Throne of Shame

The servant girl looked surprised, then suddenly alarmed, as if she'd left a fire unattended, and quickly approached the dais to curtsy. The princess tried to acknowledge the girl's tribute as regally as one could whilst bound naked to a golden throne with something up one's bottom.

"Undress"

The servant girl didn't seem particularly shocked by his command, and removed her clothing quickly. Undressed with a single word, the princess thought; his exhibition of erotic power excited her. She ran her eyes down the servant girl; a cute face, blue eyes, short boyish black hair, clean unblemished skin, a shaven mound. Was that usual for a servant girl?

"Stand up on the stool, and straddle the horse" he instructed.

The servant girl approached the back of the horse tentatively, stepping up onto the stool at the very back of the horse and swinging her left leg over the narrow ridge. Now she stood astride the flat thin edge, her feet on the stool, one on each side of the strange structure.

"Now, sit" he said firmly.

She lowered herself as he instructed, but the ridge between her legs was far too narrow to serve as a seat. She felt the cool leather-clad edge part her buttocks, then touch her lips. She rocked back slightly, shifting to avoid pressing on her most sensitive parts, until ultimately she found herself balancing precariously, resting her perineum against the edge near the very back of the horse. He could see from the straining muscles of her thighs she was still supporting most of her weight with her legs, but said nothing. He produced a thin leather thong and tied her hands behind her back.

The servant girl stood astride the horse with her back to the princess, hands bound behind her back, teetering slightly on the stool.

In a flash of terrible clarity, the princess suddenly understood the cruel purpose of the wooden horse.

On several awful occasions, it had been the princess's terrible duty to witness a hanging. To the beat of drums, she and her parents, the King and Queen, would solemnly file into the royal balcony, and sit on their thrones overlooking the great castle courtyard. She would look down on the gallows, its ominous old timbers blackened as if by fire, she'd see the noose dangling expectantly in the breeze, and shiver.

The sound of drums would rise to a deafening roar, almost too loud to think, as if trying to mask the horror of what was about to happen. A glint of gleaming metal would then catch her eye, pushing through the crowd: the guards escorting the condemned from the dungeon to underneath the dangling rope. They would be lifted onto the stool, their hands already bound behind their backs. The hooded hangman would pull the noose over the poor wretch's head, and pull the rope tight, then rest his foot against the stool; he would look up at her and wait...

She saw him rest his foot against the stool.

"Give the order, highness"

The realisation of what was going to happen next made a shiver run down her spine, she squirmed on her throne. She felt the thrilling power of authority, yet simultaneously yearned to be free of her throne, to be free of her responsibilities. But she knew her duty, and so she spoke loudly and imperiously.

"Proceed"

With a firm push, his foot tipped the stool, toppling it over. The servant girl dropped a fraction onto the leather edge, her feet jolting and dangling like a wretch on the gallows. The princess watched her feet kick the air with morbid fascination, watching her hands struggle behind her back as she vainly tried to free herself. And faintly audible beyond the servant girl's moans, were the faint squeaks of flesh on leather, as her weight was painfully concentrated on the crevice between her legs, splaying her vulva apart.

He reached behind the struggling girl and untied her hands, bringing them in front of her and re-tying them with the reins. This made her lean her forward, rounding her bottom cheeks, revealing to the princess how the cruel edge had parted her lips. From her vantage point, her eyes sparkled, she was enjoying her privilege, enjoying watching another's punishment again. It felt wrong, it felt shameful, but it was intoxicating.

From the side of the horse, he took a riding crop with a long black stem and tipped with a rounded flap of leather. He whipped it through the air, making it whiz threateningly, before slapping it across the servant girl's buttocks. And again. The poor girl cried out, but said nothing. The sound of smacking filled the room as the princess's gaze flits between the pink patches appearing on the victim's bottom, and her bare feet - kicking the air, as if nestled in invisible stirrups.

He's making her ride the horse, she realised, as she began to match the tempo of her canter by rocking on her throne. He began to whip more rapidly, bringing her to a gallop. Her cries quicken too, she tugs the reins, leaning even further forward, so now the princess can see the dark hole between her reddened cheeks. The remembered shame of watching her friends' gingered bottoms wink in the punishment room washes over her, making her skin tingle. She is so desperately close to coming.

When suddenly, the slapping stops.

He reached down to right the stool, placing it underneath the servant girl's dangling feet. At last, her trembling legs take her weight again.

"Good girl", he told her, "you may dismount".

He helped her swing her leg over the horse and step down to the floor. She stood silently, her hands between her legs alternately nursing her whipped cheeks and her vulva, now red and puffy and sore from her ride on the horse's edge.

Now he approached the throne, stepping up onto the dais. He knelt between her open legs, close enough for her to feel his hot breath on her slick, engorged lips.

"I see you enjoyed that performance", he said, as he began to untie her ankles.

She said nothing in reply, lowering her eyes in shame as he untied her wrists.

"Stand up please, highness" he commanded.

She rose slowly, hoping neither could hear the sucking noise as the throne's protrusion pulled from her bottom.

"Now stand on stool, highness, and straddle the horse"

She stood mouth agape; so he repeated his instructions, more firmly this time.

She knew she had to comply. She stepped down from the dais, approaching the wicked horse tentatively. She paused, then stepped up onto the stool and swung her left leg over the narrow ridge, so she stood astride the horse just like the servant girl had done. The folds of her lips hovered just above the horse's edge, as if teasing it, close enough for her to feel the warm dampness of her predecessor.

He gathered her hands behind her, tying her wrists with the leather thong. Her legs trembled as she imagined herself standing naked under the gallows, hands tied behind, teetering on the fatal stool, looking through the noose at the jeering, lascivious crowd...

His voice broke her reverie. "Take your place on the throne, girl"

Her throne? She looked over her shoulder to see the servant girl daintily lowering herself onto the now slick protrusion. She began to wonder if she was truly just a servant girl, she had acted quite submissively yes, but she also possessed a certain sexual confidence, she was comfortable with her nakedness, and had endured her torment with little complaint.

Perhaps she was a concubine. Or a lover. Or...

The thought hit her like a mace's glancing blow, she tottered on the stool, flexing her thighs against the edge to preserve her balance. What if the girl was his wife? His princess!

They could be playing with her, secretly laughing at her.

"I found a feisty one on my travels, my dear", he would have told her, "she calls herself a princess, yet wets herself like a slut."

"O make me your slave, my Lord", she would have replied, "whip me on the Horse as she watches from the Throne of Shame, then let me witness her disgrace!"

She had thought she had nothing more to lose when he stripped her of her clothes, now she realised he was stripping her identity away too, exposing the secret submissive that lay beneath her haughty princess persona. Worse - she was complicit, willingly collaborating as he stripped her to her core, made tame by her own desire.

She faced forward again, a shiny bridle plate reflected the scene behind her in miniature, with the other girl seated regally on the throne, her wrists and ankles tied as hers had been. She felt his hand grip her cunt, a finger probing inside her.

He spoke differently now, his once polite, respectful tone now admonishing.

"Disgraceful wench!" he scolded, "Sopping wet. Does the pain of others excite you?"

He rested his foot on the stool, rocking it threateningly.

As she tried to keep her balance, he slapped her bottom with his hand. And again. Instinctively she shied away from the blows, leaning forward, feeling the hood of her clit rubbing along the horse's edge. Her bottom was raised now, and he spanked her vigorously, scolding her after every few smacks. Her hands, tied just below the small of her back, flailed uselessly, powerless to prevent him splaying her buttocks. He ran his finger around her hole; after her time on the throne it betrayed her readily, eagerly accepting his invading digit. He pushed in deeply, continuing to spank her with his other hand, chiding her licentiousness as she ground herself against the horse's edge.

He withdrew his finger and addressed the girl on the throne.

"Give the order"

It was the first time she had heard her voice, she spoke clearly and confidently.

"Proceed!"

His foot toppled the stool with a firm push. She felt herself fall, just a fraction, and then a sudden burning pain as the leather edge forced her labia apart. Her weight pressed cruelly against the base of her mound and her clit as her feet danced beneath her, stretching vainly for the ground, whilst her hands struggled behind her. Her wetness translated her writhing into an exquisite torment, even a tiny shift in her balance would make her slide ever so slightly, pressing the sadistic edge against a new and tender part of her cunt.

He let her dangle on the horse until her feet stopped kicking, then untied her hands, before retying them to the reigns in front of her. In the silence, she thought she could hear faint murmurs of pleasure, but in her daze could not be sure if she was responsible - or the girl impaled on the throne behind her.

A swishing whip broke the hush.

Moments later, she felt it smack against her arse.

She recoiled instinctively, grinding herself against the edge, a stripe of pain across her bottom, followed an instant later by a stripe of pain along her most sensitive place.

He began to whip quicker, making her grind against the horse at a cantering pace. The burning between her legs intensified, pain and pleasure mingling until they were indistinguishable.

She gripped the reins tightly, as if trying to rein herself in. She was so close to coming, but her last vestiges of dignity tried to hold her back from what she knew would be a wench's climax: the disgrace of coming by rubbing herself as she was whipped. She longed for a princess's climax, to be worshipped by a stiff cock as she lay blissfully in a white feather bed. Instead she was being forced to masturbate herself on this horse, as a servant girl stared between her legs, watching her bottom turn red.

Once upon a time, she had wished - she would have done anything - to swap places, to be the one over the spanking bench, to feel her bum burning, to be forced to spread her legs to expose everything she had to the authority on the throne. Now her wish had been unexpectedly granted, her disgrace was almost complete.

He continued to castigate her between flurries of slaps.

"What a wanton hussy. Rubbing her clit in front of others. My humble servant girl behaved with more decorum."

"Are you really a princess? Or an impostor, weaving an improbable tale of a runaway princess in the hope of shelter and charity? I should send you to work in my kitchens."

He was whipping her rapidly now. And she was losing her battle of self-control, she felt the tell-tale tremors deep inside. All those years of tedious royal dutifulness, she'd never felt anything like this, the shame of being his slave, the delight of suffering under his whip.

"And since you like it so much, you can spend every night in the dungeon, sitting across a device such as this."

She pulled at the reins and clenched her legs, gripping the narrow beam with her thighs, driving the edge deeper into her aching slit, proferring her bottom in a final act of submission.

He accepted her sacrifice, and whacked her hard between her cheeks.

She thrust herself onto the edge, feeling her throbbing clit slide down its slick ridge, until it was buried deep inside her.

She came ecstatically.

She came shamefully.

She came revealingly.

* * * * *

Epilogue

They fucked again as they watched the sun rise, colouring the tower-top bedchamber with a golden glow.

It had been an exhausting night.

But he was sure he had made the right choice.